


After The Insects Have Made Their Claim

by dametokillfor



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Child Death, Dark, Dubious Science, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:58:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dametokillfor/pseuds/dametokillfor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard and Thranduil share a painful, and a tender moment at the end of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After The Insects Have Made Their Claim

**Author's Note:**

> This fic basically came about through wondering about how well their names fit into AU settings. They seem very grand for a normal AU, so somehow I got the idea that they'd fit in perfectly in a post-apocalyptic setting. Add that to my current addiction to Hozier and this was born.
> 
> This is quite dark at times, and some actions may seem a little callous to some people. I can only apologize if anyone is offended. 
> 
> This is my first fic in this pairing and fandom, so I'm a little nervous about it.

The world always seems so dark now. The sky hasn't been blue in many years, it's a dark rust colour, black clouds always hovering heavy overhead. The dark orange of the sun doesn't burn them away, not anymore. Since the implosion, the sun doesn't do much of anything anymore. The creatures of this world know they have a limited amount of time left, that it's a miracle they've survived this long, but it doesn't stop them fighting to stay alive.

Bard tears his eyes away from the dark clouds when he hears the soft footfalls of the man he's been waiting for. 

"You came."

"You sound surprised."

" _Be with me at the end of the world_ ," Bard repeats the message he'd sent to the leader of the elf faction, "It's not the most romantic proposal I've ever put forth." 

"And yet somehow it's the most romantic message I've received." 

Thranduil sits by him on the dirt, stretches long legs out in front of him. He stares off into the distance.

"The wizards say we've got days left, at most. The chill is becoming too harsh, we can't survive this one." Bard tells him. Business first. Business before he touches him, before he can't stop touching him. "My men have been sent to spend their remaining days with their families. We have no need for soldiers now."

"And what of you, Bard, why are you not with your family? Your children?" Thranduil asks, "Why are you sat on a dying mountain with me as the world ends?"

Bard looks to his feet. He isn't ready to say the words. How the chill had stolen his children from him not two days since. He had been with Thranduil, he'd been in his arms, revelling in the warmth they could provide one another, and his children had frozen. The thick furs piled around them had not been enough to keep their little bodies alive. 

Thranduil looks across to him. Sees the darkness that has clouded his lovers handsome features. The realisation hits him like a punch to the gut. He reaches across and takes Bard's hand.

"My apologies." The words sound too formal. He tries again. "I'm sorry. They were wonderful children."

Bard wants to fight with him, wants nothing more than to scream, _and now they'll never be anything else, they'll never grow up, they're dead because we wrecked our world, because we thought we had forever and we didn't and I wasn't there because I was with you and I should have been there, I should have been with my children_ but he's too tired. He knows his children wouldn't have blamed him, his youngest had urged him from the tent, told him to find his elf, who knew how long they'd have left together? 

Thranduil brushes his lips across Bard's knuckles, "I truly am sorry."

"They aren't suffering anymore." Bard says, sadly, "It's almost a relief. Eru, it sounds so cruel..."

"It's not cruel. We take comfort where we can in times of pain." Thranduil tells him.

"Can we not talk about this anymore?" Bard asks, turning to look at Thranduil for the first time, "If an afterlife exists, I will see them again." 

Bard doesn't sound convinced, but Thranduil respects his wishes. He's never been able to deny Bard anything, he isn't about to start now. 

"I brought you something." Thranduil tells him, dropping Bard's hand. He reaches to the leather pouch tied about his waist, pulls out a bottle. He flips the cork from the neck and passes it to Bard. The human takes a long draw from the bottle, a noise of approval being made low in his throat.

"You brought wine to the end of the world?" Bard asks, a small smile crossing his lips.

"It would have been a shame to let it go to waste." Thranduil replies, before pitching his voice lower, smoother, "And I do enjoy chasing the wine blush across your body with my mouth."

A flush passes across Bard's cheeks then, a satisfied smile comes across Thranduil's full lips. The elf leans in, catches Bard's mouth in a sweet kiss. He can taste the fruity wine on his lovers mouth, can feel Bard's lips curving into a smile as he reaches up and cups Thranduil's cheek. 

The kiss is over too soon for Thranduil's liking. He could spend hours simply kissing his human, his fellow leader. He never tires of Bard's soft mouth on his own, of the scratch of rough stubble, the bristles of his mustache. 

Bard's thumb strokes along Thranduil's cheekbone, before he looks up into his silver eyes, "I love you."

It's the first time he's said it. He likes to believe Thranduil knows, knows about the pure white hot burn the elf has ignited in him. He likes to believe he's said it through every touch, every kiss, every look, but now he needs to say it. 

Bard tells him again, "I love you."

"I love you." Thranduil replies, almost too fast, as if the words have been ready to spill from his lips for the longest time, as if he's had to bite them back.

He leans in again, whispers the words softly against Bard's smiling mouth, "I love you."

The bottle of wine is cast aside as Bard wraps his arms around Thranduil's neck, pulls him down on top of him. The ground is cold, unforgiving and rough, but it's the last thing on their mind.

Bodies rut together, hands under rough woollen sweaters, reaching for whatever skin they can touch. Thranduil wishes he could take Bard to pieces in a bed, stretch him out across silken sheets, naked and glorious, take his time over every inch of golden skin, memorise every scar, every freckle, every part of his lover's taut, muscled body. He tells him, whispers the words in his ear as he grinds their clothed erections together. 

The tents are warmer, they can be skin to skin in the glows of the fires they've stoked, but out in the wilderness, it would kill them. 

(And it's not as if the thought isn't tempting, dying in each others arms, joined together forever). 

Bard's hands are tight in Thranduil's silver hair, clinging so hard it must hurt the elf, but he doesn't let it show. His leg wraps around Thranduil's waist, as the elf whispers words too good for him against his ear, his neck, his throat. 

"Thranduil," Bard whispers, as his release creeps upon him, filling him with the only real warmth he and anyone can feel anymore in this cruel world, " _Thranduil!_ "

Hearing his name in such a wrecked, desperate voice sends Thranduil over the edge, spilling in the rough britches they've been forced to wear for warmth. He clings to Bard, ruts messily against him as he rides out his orgasm, with a low moan.

It's going to be uncomfortable, but he can't bring himself to care. Not when Bard is there, looking fucked out and perfect below him. His dark hair loose and splayed across the dirt, a lazy contented smile on his face, his eyes closed, hand on his chest as he catches his breath. He's more beautiful than any of the elves Thranduil has ever associated himself with, in all his flawed human glory. 

Thranduil lays by his side, drapes an arm across him as he comes back to himself, lets his breathing slow down to normal. Bard pushes himself up, moves to kiss Thranduil one last time, slow and soft. 

"If I am to die here, with you at my side," Thranduil tells him as he pulls back, "I could not ask for a happier ending to my story."

Bard wants to argue, wants to offer a better alternative, but he knows Thranduil is right. This is the happiest end he could have hoped for, to die unburdened with worry for his family, for what they will do without him, in the arms of the last person he will ever love. 

As his eyes slip closed for what may be the final time, he's content, he's safe, it's perfect.

_And they'd find us in a week_  
 _When the buzzards get loud_  
 _After the insects have made their claim_  
 _After the foxes have known our taste_  
 _After the raven has had his say_  
 _I'll be home with you, I'll be home with you._ \- Hozier ft. Karen Cowley - In A Week 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](http://hannibalaric.tumblr.com).


End file.
